


Another Day and Another Soufflé

by MetaBeeBoppin



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Baking, Comedy, F/M, Fluff, Home with the Doctor, Light Angst, Probably takes place post Name of the Doctor, Romance, whouffle
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-28
Updated: 2017-05-13
Packaged: 2018-10-25 03:12:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10755543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MetaBeeBoppin/pseuds/MetaBeeBoppin
Summary: Another day home alone and another failed soufflé leads Clara and the Doctor on a mission to create the perfect dessert.





	1. Preheating the Oven

The Maitland household’s patio door burst open, and a cloud of black smoke came billowing out, accompanied by the beeping of a fire alarm and a coughing Clara Oswald. As she staggered out onto the flagstone floor, she wheezed helplessly as she desperately searched for whatever fresh air she could find. Her brunette hair was a stressed-out mess and her eyes were bloodshot and watering, though you may expect that of someone who had just experienced a disaster.

 

The smoke soon began to disappear and Clara stepped back into the house. She fanned at the smoke that remained as her coughing fit died down. As she finally steadied her breathing, she glanced towards the kitchen area where the fumes were still rising. Since she didn’t want to get the sack, she rushed over to where the fire blanket hung on the wall, and tore it from its plastic casing. She moved into the kitchen, threw open the oven door and blew the smoke away.

 

Now that little panic was over and the house hadn’t been burned down, she just had to face the horror that lay inside the oven and she really, _really_ didn’t want to do that. Because, honestly, she thought she would rather battle another Ice Warrior, or even a Cyberman. Those just made her feel scared. She’d take scared over plain disappointed any day.

 

Summoning as much bravery as she could, she clenched her nails into the hem of her apron, scrunched her eyes shut and knelt down beside the open door. She knew she had to bite the bullet and just accept it, so she opened one eyelid to look inside.

 

Then she sighed heavily, and her arms slumped to her side, as she stared wearily at a charcoal-coloured blob sitting at the bottom of the oven.

 

It was her worst soufflé ever.

 

They were getting worse.

 

 _She_ was getting worse.

 

Frowning, she slipped on an oven glove and, once she had used the blanket to smother the parts that were slightly still on fire, she tossed the foul-smelling failure of a dessert into the rubbish bin. She stood and looked down at the burnt treat for a moment, as it lay pathetically at the bottom of the bin bag, and her frown gradually morphed into a frustrated pout.

 

What had she done wrong this time?

 

Crossing over into the dining room, she pulled up one of the wooden chairs and sat resting her chin on her hand, both looking and feeling like a sulky teenager. With Angie and Artie both at school and their father at work, Clara had found herself, once again, looking after the house on her lonesome, and oh boy, was she bored out of her mind. She was beginning to lose count of the amount of soufflés she had made in the past week, and she had no new books to read either. She almost missed the heated cries of the two kids as they fought over something silly, like the television channel.

 

At least that filled the hours until that marvellous man whisked her away again.

 

She knew, of course, that not every day could be a journey beyond the stars to see the wonders of the universe and battle the creatures of nightmares. The wait made those times even dearer to her heart, even fonder in her memories, and she liked that. But every week, she was struggling more and more to be patient, for her next adventure with that funny man, with his floppy hair and his silly bow tie and that young face with the impossibly ancient eyes. Now the days in between just seemed to fill the gaps, and normal life no longer compared to her days with the Doctor.

 

She looked out the window, towards the clear blue sky past the dying wisps of smouldering soufflé.

 

When had she started to crave chaos?

 

The kitchen door suddenly burst open, and a cascade of water was launched towards Clara before she could react, and a moment later, she was drenched. In the doorway stood the Doctor, a merryweather helmet on his head and a large fire bucket in his hands. The triumphant grin fell off his face once he realised he had soaked his companion from head to toe. She stood up, brushed her sodden hair behind her ears and then glared at him furiously.

 

“Took care of the fire yourself, then?” he asked meekly, hiding the bucket behind his back. Clara threw off the soaked apron, which landed with a splat next to the bin. It had done nothing to protect her red, daisy-print dress, which now clung to her naked legs uncomfortably.

 

“There really wasn’t much of one. What are you doing here?” she asked, her glare still focused on the Doctor. She crossed her arms, knowing he got nervous when she looked serious. Sure enough, he seemed to lose his train of thought, and he began to helplessly gesture, towards the bucket and the helmet, his mouth doing something reminiscent of a fish stranded on land.

 

“Umm,” he hummed, “uhh, well… hmm…”

 

Clara raised an eyebrow at him.

 

“Well, I may have installed an emergency warning uplink between the TARDIS and your fire alarm. Well, all of your alarms, actually - even the one in the microwave,” he explained.

 

“You did _what?_ ” she asked disbelievingly.

 

“You’re right, the microwave was overkill,” he said. He whipped his sonic screwdriver from his suit jacket and flashed it at the appliance, which dinged in response. He smiled at her, waving the screwdriver in the air and apparently hoping he had distracted her from the incident involving the bucket and the massive amount of water going over her head.

 

It hadn’t.

 

“You bugged the house? You bugged the house and then threw a bucket of water at me? Are you looking for a smack?” she asked irritably, taking a few hopefully-menacing steps towards him. He momentarily regressed to his impression of a dangerously misplaced fish before continuing.

 

“It was just in case there was an emergency, like a fire, or a burglary, or apparently an alien coming in and warming up a bagel or something.  I just wanted to be sure nothing bad would happen when you were here, at home, when I was away and had no way to make sure,” he explained, frowning, tossing the sonic from hand to hand as he did when he was nervous.

 

Clara considered his words for a moment, and then her glare softened at the sight of those eyes.

 

Those big, sad eyes, the ones she could never be mad at. The ones that reminded her that he was the Doctor, a wonderful man who never did any harm and wasn’t sure what to do when he thought he had. They always reminded her that his kindness was real, and that he would never hurt her on purpose, and that made forgiveness easy.

 

And he was here. Once again, when she needed him, he had appeared.

 

As nuts as he was, she was so happy he was standing in front of her.

 

She smiled tenderly at him and uncrossed her arms, then reached out for a hug.

 

“Clara, you’re soaked,” he said.

 

She jumped forward and pulled him into a hug anyway, her hands linking around his waist as she pressed her wet hair into his chest. She felt his hand stroke her hair tentatively. He then wiped the same hand on his trousers.

 

Several minutes later, Clara had swapped her clothes for a blue tank top and jogging bottoms, and was drying her hair with a pink towel. She re-entered the kitchen to find the Doctor standing on one of the chairs, tinkering with the fire alarm above them. He had discarded his wet jacket and waistcoat and was now stripped down to his shirt, though, naturally, the bow tie remained.

 

 _That’s a really good look_ , Clara thought to herself.

 

“What made the alarm to go off, anyway?” he asked, focused on his task yet somehow still aware she had arrived. Without uttering a word, Clara crossed the room to the bin and stomped the pedal, revealing the blackened dessert and unleashing its foul, coal-like smell back into the room. The Doctor sniffed, grimaced, and then looked into the bin.

 

“Ahh,” he responded simply. Clara glanced at the charred soufflé and felt the disappointment come rushing back; her shoulders slumped and she started frowning again. The Doctor seemed to notice the downcast expression, as he hopped down off of the chair and placed his hands on her shoulders reassuringly.

 

“Hey, come on, now, let’s not let a little snafu in the kitchen ruin our day,” he said tenderly. He moved a hand to stroke her cheek as he hunched over to meet her gaze and smile playfully at her. She smiled back, though apparently a little too weakly for the Doctor’s liking. He looked at her thoughtfully, then stepped back and did one of those strange little spins he liked to do.

 

“Come on, the days still young; let’s find something to do to cheer you up! We can see the northern lights above the grand glaciers of Ninvonia Twelve, they love a celebration, those Ninvonians, and you can always find a vendor of the most wonderful candy floss – well, really it tastes more like–“

 

“Can we stay here?” Clara asked suddenly.

 

She wasn’t even sure why she said it herself. It was like the pressure of what she wanted, really wanted, deep down, had just suddenly erupted. And much to her annoyance, she felt her cheeks becoming ever so slightly hot.

 

“Yes,” the Doctor answered after a brief pause, “but why?”

 

There was a beat of silence as Clara racked her brain for an excuse, or at least an answer that wouldn’t embarrass her further. It was true that a quick journey to a polar candy floss planet would solve her boredom in a flash, but there was something that was putting her off.

 

“I just want a normal day with you,” she admitted finally. She found herself avoiding looking out the window, avoiding the Doctor’s confused gaze. When he said nothing, she took a deep breath and continued. “Because I can’t zoom off halfway across the universe every time I have a bad day, because then I’m not adventuring, I’m escaping. That’s not what I want you to be; I don’t want you to be an escape, you deserve better than that and-“

 

She hadn’t noticed how much she was shaking until the Doctor pressed a finger to her lips and made her focus.

 

“Very well then, Clara Oswald,” he said quietly, grinning, “today, you and I are going to stay here, and we’re going to make the best soufflé in the universe.”

 

Her eyes widened in shock.

 

 _I shouldn’t have said that_ , Clara thought.

 

 It seemed that in her attempts to avoid another adventure, she had accidentally created the most dangerous one ever.

 

The Doctor. In a kitchen. _Baking._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for taking the time to read this. After a long break from fan fiction due to a combination of work and illness, I'm glad to have finally gotten back to it. I'm not sure how I feel about this work so far, but honestly, I'm just glad the creative juices are flowing again. 
> 
> Leave a comment if you like, I love to read what people think!
> 
> Next chapter will be up soonish!


	2. Leaving to Cool

“I honestly thought this would be more exhilarating,” the Doctor whined, waving a hand in the air absentmindedly. The chocolate mixture for their soufflé was sitting on the kitchen counter cooling, and while there was still much left to do, the two of them had retreated to the living room to wait. Although he had promised to be patient, the Doctor was now sitting upside down in one of the Maitlands armchairs, his lanky legs hanging awkwardly over the back. Clara was amazed at how such an old man was capable of acting like such a child. And what was especially amazing was that she had wondered the same thing countless times before, and it just didn’t stop amazing her.

 

“You don’t do a whole lot of this waiting thing, do you?” Clara asked, peering at him over the top of The Radio Times.

 

“I have a time machine, usually I miss out the waiting and go straight to the good bits,” he said, before clapping his hands to his face and releasing a weary groan. 

 

“You only need to wait another ten minutes,” she answered, returning to her magazine, “surely you can find something to occupy yourself with until then.”

 

The Doctor paused thoughtfully while Clara went back to reading an article about Emmerdale that had her unusually enthralled, even though the magazine was more to hide the giddy grin involuntarily plastered on her face. The Doctor’s impatience was a little irritating, but she knew he was only impatient because he was excited, and she couldn’t help but be endeared by how excited he was getting over something so… _normal_. At the same time, however, it made her a little nervous. It didn’t make sense for someone who had seen so much to still care about such tiny everyday activities, and it made her wonder if he was simply humouring her.

 

Then again, that didn’t seem like something he would do. She hoped not, anyway.

 

“Do you have a wavey arm box?” the Doctor requested suddenly.

 

She peeked over the magazine again, raising an inquisitive eyebrow.

 

“Some old friends of mine, they had this brilliant toy in their living room. You ran around the room and waved your arms about and the little man on the television played tennis for you,” he explained fondly, grinning ecstatically as he changed his sitting position so it was slightly more orthodox. He watched his companion with that charming youthful wonderment as he waited for her to answer.

 

She considered his explanation for a moment, and was unable to supress a laugh when she realised what he was talking about.

 

“Are you on about a Wii?” she asked, struggling to believe that the Doctor, a man who wielded technology beyond the comprehension of most people, was interested in an out-dated game console simply because you got to waggle your arms around. Incredibly, he nodded enthusiastically. 

 

 _Then again, waggling his arms about is one of his favourite things to do; I guess I shouldn’t be too surprised_ , she thought.

 

“I think it’s in the cabinet under the telly,” she continued. “The kids don’t really use it too much anymore, though.”

 

“But it’s brilliant fun, why not?” he asked, sounding mystified.

 

“I became their babysitter, and books are _more_ fun,” Clara smirked.

 

The Doctor chuckled and rubbed his hands together. He hopped out of his chair and opened the small wooden cabinet, and laughed gleefully when he saw the small white box. He didn’t waste a second jamming his finger onto the power button.

 

Over the next few minutes, Clara found her interest in her magazine waning as she became increasingly focused on the man sitting cross-legged on her carpet as he waved the white game controller around in the air. She had no idea what was happening on the television screen (though she was almost certain the Doctor was losing miserably), but all the questions that were surfacing to her were more intriguing anyway. Soon she was kneeling forwards, intently watching him play with her hand resting on her chin. The Radio Times lay forgotten down the side of the armchair cushion.

 

“I don’t understand,” she muttered. Keeping his eyes on the screen, the Doctor tilted his head towards her.

 

“I don’t understand what’s happening either, but I love it! Dinosaurs in go-karts, _wow_!”

 

“No, I mean,” she interrupted, her smile broadening, “How can all of this still impress you? There’s so much more amazing technology in the future, and I’ve seen it and I know it’s more impressive than this. And come on, your own people invented time machines! Weird ones with too many things stuffed inside! And you still get enjoyment from a silly little box with a waggly remote?”

 

Clara very suddenly became aware of how heated she was getting, not for the first time since the Time Lord had arrived earlier that day, and she felt her cheeks flush. However, the Doctor laughed, and then he pressed the pause button so he could turn and look at her.

 

“It’s charming,” he said simply.

 

“How so?” she countered. She remembered, several years ago, seeing adverts for the console when it was new and considering it something futuristic and revolutionary. Now, remembering that made her feel silly because she knew how far the human race had left to go. She wondered whether the Doctor was charmed and amazed by her time, as he always said, or whether he found it adorable and amusing. There was a very clear difference between the two to her.

 

The Doctor stood and closed the space between them, then seated himself on the arm of her chair and began wringing his hands thoughtfully as he contemplated his answer.

 

“Do you know sometimes, you meet someone, and you just click together even if you’re not really sure why? And you just can’t imagine your life without them after that?” he pondered, his own answer to the questions seemingly creeping into his mind as a bittersweet expression fell upon him.

 

 _Oh, you know I do, chin boy,_ Clara thought.

 

“You just see the person for what they are. And you know they still have flaws, and you know the flaws are always there, but just because you love them it doesn’t mean those flaws go away or you become blind to them, you just end up not caring,” he explained. “This time period is like that to me. Yes, you all seem so young to me, still, but I admire you. You create all of these things – games consoles, soufflés, and televisions – just because you enjoy them. And yes, they are imperfect, and believe me, I see that, but it’s the fact that you keep improving and you keep doing your best because you always want to be better. I think… this is the time when humanity is more human than it’s ever been. And that’s why I can’t keep away.”

 

He looked down at her with a look of fond warmness. Though his was an expression that was rare for her to see, Clara believed she recognised the look of actual, proper adoration, and she felt her stomach perform what felt like a perfectly executed backflip. There was love in the Doctor’s eyes, and he was looking at her. All of his love for humanity was focused in her direction, and it was almost overwhelming. Like sunlight through a magnifying glass, and just as dazzling.

 

“You’re all wonderful, tenacious, and absolutely mad,” he continued. “Doing anything and everything, just because it’s fun, just because it brings a little more beauty to the world. How could I not adore you all?”

 

As she mirrored the Doctor’s affectionate smile, Clara had to catch her breath. Her conscious thoughts had escaped her and she seemed to have forgotten that breathing was something she needed to do. There was just something so entrancing about the look he was giving her. As she looked at him as he fondly reminisced about the best of humanity, the rest of the room seemed to blur and fall away behind him. Though she always appreciated the honesty and the kindness that was ever-present in his eyes, the emotion in them at that moment was even more wonderful. And it was like all that he had seen, all the days and all the galaxies that were scorched into his memory, was bursting out at her all at once.

 

The egg timer chimed from the kitchen.

 

“Ha-ha, finally!” The Doctor cheered, abruptly jumping to his feet and then wandering over towards the kitchen counter. Clara remained; stunned into silence, as it gradually dawned on her how close she had drawn to the man before he had walked off.

 

When he was out of sight, she rubbed her forehead with her fingertips, not from a headache but  from a need to hide her shame. Though her thoughts had ran away at the time, it was obvious what she had been about to do. It was a thought that ran through her mind often when the Doctor spoke so compassionately. Yes, he was a handsome man – chin was a bit of a shame, of course – but when the man he truly was began to bleed through, which happened so very rarely… that’s when she had to keep repeating that same old mantra to herself.

 

_Don’t fall in love with him. For the love of god, don’t fall in love with him._

 

“Come on, Clara! Do you think I trust myself alone over here anymore than you do?” he called from the kitchen area. Clara unshielded her face so the room came back into view, and the familiarity of her home seemed to settle her stomach and steady her heartbeat, reminding her she was still in control of the situation. And she had to be in control. If there ever was a moment for her to share a first kiss with the Doctor, that moment was not it.

 

The problem was, of course, she wasn’t sure there _ever_ would be a correct moment to kiss him.

 

_It would never ever work. Don't fall in love with him. Just don't._

 

She took a deep breath to steel herself, banishing the thoughts from her mind, and then stood, spinning to face the kitchen area. She had expected to see the Doctor tinkering with the hob or rewiring an electric mixer, or another obviously alien act that was equally absurd, but to her quiet surprise he wasn’t doing anything like that. He was just standing there; uncharacteristically patient, tapping the back of a wooden spoon against his open palm in a clumsy, mindless rhythm. He beamed at her when he saw she had stood up.

 

Clara was unusually charmed by that image of the Doctor, dressed much more normally than usual, and planted in a domestic setting way outside his comfort zone. Seeing him experiencing something that was, for whatever reason, fascinating to him – it was kind of adorable. Clara wondered if she looked that adorable to him when she was outside her comfort zone, far in the future on a distant planet, experiencing something brand new and wonderful.

 

It was fun seeing things the opposite way around.

 

And perhaps that was the part that she craved. Not the chaos, or the danger, or the adrenaline – because none of that would be half as fun if the Doctor wasn’t there with her throughout all of it, always thrilled for her to see his world.

 

It was a difficult prospect to face, but it was an undeniable truth. She craved the Doctor.

 

“Clara? Are you okay?” the Doctor asked, waving his spoon at her. “You’re sort of staring into space over there.”

 

She snapped back into focus at the sound of his voice and nodded erratically at him.

 

“Yes! Soufflé!” she exclaimed, slightly dazed. “We’re making a soufflé!”

 

“Best soufflé in the universe!” he called back as he tossed the spoon over his shoulder, before clapping his hands together. The spoon landed with a clanging sound in the sink.

 

After the shortest of musings, Clara elected to nudge all of the thoughts about the Doctor aside. She found making soufflés difficult enough without having to worry about whatever it was that her relationship with the Time Lord amounted to. And anyway, she was British - ignoring personal problems and carrying on with life was what she was best at. She assumed most Brits would agree that the posters were actually quite accurate.

 

Once she had crossed the threshold into the kitchen, she grabbed a clean apron from one of the kitchen drawers and, after clumsily fumbling with the cords for a moment, managed to tie it around her waist. She stood at the Doctor’s side, who was bouncing excitedly on the balls of his feet, which made her signature apple-cheeked smile blossom once again.

 

 _I really wish you’d stop being quirky for five minutes, you’re making my cheeks hurt,_ she thought.

 

“Right then, you ready?” she asked, placing her hands on her hips and raising her eyebrows at him. The Doctor winked in response, and magically whipped a second wooden spoon from his trouser pocket.

 

“Geronimo,” he said, smirking.

 

“Please leave my spoons alone,” she replied.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm amazed I managed to get this done with exams going on lmao. I'm not really sure how this turned out, it feels really insular to me and maybe a bit flowery but that might just be for lack of action. Or maybe I'm just rubbish, whichever explanation works for you guys. We actually get to the baking part in the next chapter, yay! Which may or may not be the last one, I haven't decided how this story ends yet. And that's terrible. Also if it's not obvious yet, I have never made a souffle so please don't expect that to be perfectly accurate hahaha
> 
> Like before, please leave a comment, I love to know what people think. Thanks for reading!


End file.
